


Give it a Chance

by orphan_account



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Asexual Character, Bulimia, Connor is Asexual, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's nothing graphic it's not even described, Mentions of Sex, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, This is not some gross rape fetish it's a serious fic, it's not rape/non-con but I'm not sure how to describe it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Connor threw up again in his own toilet. And threw up again, and again, and when he thought he'd thrown up everything he dug two fingers down his throat and retched up the last of it. Even then he still felt it clawing at his insides. He gagged into the bowl, stomach lurching but nothing left to come up. He dragged himself into the shower and scrubbed at his skin until it was raw and little spots of red decorated his body. Except he couldn't touchtherehe couldn't even think abouttherewithout retching again but he was so, so dirty. So filthy. Like there were bugs under his skin.Connor let his anxiety stop him from preventing something he wasn't ready for.





	Give it a Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Okay a warning!! Spoilers for the content but I think this is necessary.
> 
> The premise of the fic is Connor is asexual but agrees to sex because he has anxiety and is anxious the guy will leave him and convinces himself he was leading the guy on and can't back out. Afterwards Connor really regrets it and I'm mostly writing what's going on in his head.
> 
> tw: self-harm (in the form of anorexia and bulimia), thoughts if suicide, almost attempted suicide, elements of rape/non-con (though I hope you can see why I am reluctant to call it such as Connor does consent without any deliberate pressure from his partner)
> 
> I used the rape/non-con tags because I think what I have written about is too specific for the tags and it's pretty similar to what people want to avoid so I've put it in for that reason.
> 
> Please don't read if you might get triggered by this.
> 
> This isn't some fetishy shit either I promise.

He had said yes.

They'd been dating for a while, now (though they hadn't really given it a name it was clear to both of them what they were) and Connor was the one who started kissing him, Connor was the one who led him to the bed to make out.

Connor was the one who said yes when he had asked to take it further.

His gut twisted when Daniel's hand brushed his stomach and pushed up his shirt. _But you were the one who started it,_ his head screamed in harsh whispers, _you can't stop it now._

Daniel fell asleep next to him and Connor got up, threw up in the toilet, walked himself home.

_You led him on._

_What did you expect?_

He felt filthy. It was inside of him, crawling around in his digestive system like it owned the place. It did.

Connor threw up again in his own toilet. And threw up again, and again, and when he thought he'd thrown up everything he dug two fingers down his throat and retched up the last of it. Even then he still felt it clawing at his insides. He gagged into the bowl, stomach lurching but nothing left to come up. He dragged himself into the shower and scrubbed at his skin until it was raw and little spots of red decorated his body. Except he couldn't touch _there_ he couldn't even think about _there_ without retching again but he was so, so dirty. So filthy. Like there were bugs under his skin.

_You led him on. You knew you wouldn't want to go further but_ you _led him on._

Connor wished he could scrub his insides as well. He stood in the shower for a long time, scratching his skin until it bled. He held his breath before he turned the water off, bracing himself before having the face the world again. A small part of the world, the hallway before his bedroom, but it was too much from the sanctity of the empty bathroom. He crept along the hall in a dead silence, looking but not seeing, moving from muscle memory alone, and crawled naked under his covers.

Connor didn't sleep. He still felt dirty, felt bugs crawling under his skin, felt eyes boring into the back of his neck and hands on his sides and his empty stomach catching in his throat. Connor choked on his own thoughts and shook uncontrollably and struggled to breathe as if there was a vice around his throat and a weight crushing his lungs. He wasn't aware he was crying until he brought a quaking hand to his face and found it drenched with a mixture of sweat and tears. He gripped his hair in his hands and clutched it painfully, curling his knees impossibly close to his chest. His scalp burned but of he moved his hands something bad would happen, he knew. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't stop, he was dying. When it finally passed he was exhausted though his eyes were shot open. Eventually he woke up in cold sweat.

It wasn't hard to convince Cynthia he was sick. She heard him throwing up, actually, and was worried he'd caught some bug that the other mothers had told her was going around. She let him stay home and he barely moved in bed, couldn't move. He drifted in and out of sleep and when he was awake would only stare at the wall and feel his skin crawl and his stomach twist and knot and he would retch painfully and dryly in the bucket left by his bedside.

Daniel texted him at some point, time moving and yet standing still, asking where he was. Connor felt wrong to just look at the text.

The next day was the same and he asked this time if there was something _wrong._ If he was _okay_. And God he couldn't tell him. He couldn't do that to him. It wasn't Daniel's fault, Connor said yes. He knew and he still said yes. He couldn't let Daniel think he'd done that to him.

He stayed in bed again the next day and Larry began to get impatient. There was nothing wrong with him, Cynthia, he was clearly just faking it to get out of school he had done this before.

On Thursday Connor denied himself breakfast, let Zoe drive him to school in silence, avoided Daniel, couldn't pay attention in lesson, skipped lunch (he didn't deserve it even if he could put food in front of himself without his throat closing up and his stomach squirming), let Zoe drive him home. Crawled back into bed.

When he passed Daniel in the corridor Connor couldn't meet his eyes. He felt sick, skin crawling, he couldn't stomach the thought of talking to Daniel, looking at him, even. All he could think about was

Connor forced himself to eat some breakfast even though it felt like his whole body was fighting against him. He followed the same routine, trudging behind Zoe to her car, sliding into the passenger seat, sitting in silence until they pulled into the school where they'd part without a word. Daniel was at his locker in the morning and Connor made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, sitting hunched over on the toilet, head in his hands. He waited a few minutes after the bell rung to drag his feet through the empty corridor to class, stomach churning the little he had eaten. In his third period history class Connor was broken out of his haze. Evan Hansen was in front of him looking like he wanted something.

He and Evan had made something of a friendship since Connor had apologised for pushing him in a computer room early in the school year. It was really just that their history teacher had a fetish for group projects and neither of them had any actual friends, so a professional relationship, then. An acquaintanceship bound by mutual lack in anyone else willing to spend time in their company. Though Evan did follow Jared Kleinman around like a lost puppy whenever he could, Connor wasn't sure if that counted.

"Do you want to pair up?" he asked every time.

It took Connor a moment to process what was happening, only vaguely aware that he was in history class in the first place. "I wasn't listening," he admitted.

"Yeah I could tell," Evan said without thinking, before he could apologize Connor gave his best impression of a laugh.

"Okay, pull a chair over."

Connor folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead against the desk. He winced at the high pitched scrape of a metal chair dragging across the ground before Evan settled beside him. Connor tried to listen to Evan's brief explanation of what exactly they were supposed to be doing, something to do with a lesson he had missed that week. He wondered what Evan would think of him if he knew why.

"We have a week to do it so you could come to mine or I can go to yours and we can work on it," Evan finished his ramble, looking uncertainly at Connor. Connor got the impression he had made Evan feel unwelcome, unsurprising considering his brain was flooded with poison.

"You can come after school just not tonight I'm" _disgusting, filthy, undeserving, better off dead_ "tired."

Evan said okay and they fell into an uncomfortable silence until the end of class. Connor grabbed his bag and began to mindlessly step out of the classroom before Evan called after him. He turned around to face him.

"Are- are you okay?" Evan asked, twisting his fingers in the hem of his shirt. "You've been off school all week and then when you are here you haven't really been, well, here. I mean you've been," he paused, searching for a word he couldn't quite place. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Connor shifted his feet, suddenly anxious to leave. "I'm fine," he said a touch too roughly, knocking over a chair in his haste to escape. The echoing bang rattled in his head as he sped down the hall, leaving Evan in an empty classroom to worry the hem of his shirt and silently fret over the reaction of his classmate.

Connor stuck himself in bed the moment he got home Friday afternoon and stayed in bed the majority of his Saturday, save for bathroom breaks. He had tried browsing his phone but the number of unopened texts from Daniel bore into his mind, his unknowing- concerned comments mocking Connor. Cynthia brought him some toast around midday, claiming it would help settle his stomach (assuming he was still sick, Connor thought). He hadn't even raised his head when she came in, looking without seeing at the bare patch of wall across the room. He nibbled on the toast throughout the day, the taste of gluten free bread not exactly appealing. It felt like it stuck in his throat on the way down and once he finished his first slice it settled in his stomach with the familiar weight of guilt. He shouldn't have eaten that.

Connor left the second slice on its plate on the floor and didn't look at it the rest of the weekend.

Connor cornered Evan in front of his locker Monday morning and asked if he wanted to come after school to work on their project. That, and the threat of spending that much time alone with his thoughts shook Connor to the core. He could give Evan a lift, if he liked. "He" of course meaning Zoe, because Connor was still banned from driving for using the car while high. The car was fine, if anything Connor had driven it better than usual, and he wasn't that high in the first place. But his parents still had a hold of his driver's license and though Connor figured out a long time ago where they hid his confiscated possessions, stealing his own license and key would only end up in more shit.

So Connor texted Zoe that they would have to wait for Evan and got on with his day. When Connor left the building at the end of the day he awkwardly half jogged to catch up with Evan, who was walking a few feet in front of him and looking around the car park helplessly. He joined Evan in the back seat instead of sitting in the front with Zoe, who made a half hearted comment on being a chauffeur, which Evan returned with polite laughter. Considering the fact that neither of them had any clue what they were doing for their project, Connor asked Evan.

"Well I was thinking, if you want, I worked at this park over the summer and it's pretty close by because the bus I got always went past your street and that kind of makes it a local place," though it was phrased as a question, Evan's rising intonation gave Connor the impression he was asking. Connor shrugged. "So we could do our presentation on that? I don't know about it's history though."

"I mean that's kind of the point of the project. To learn history," Connor commented with sarcasm. "Yeah, okay. You think we can walk from my house?"

Evan seemed relieved. "I think so? I'm used to walking, though, to school, so it might be different for you."

"Are you saying I'm unfit?"

"What?" Evan's eyes shot wide. "No, no, no! I didn't-" Connor barked out a laugh, cutting him off.

"I'm taking the piss, Evan." Connor ignored Zoe's tut, practically feeling her roll her eyes.

Connor darted for the stairs the moment they had entered the house, pulling Evan past his parents before they could embarrass him, not that they hadn't already the last time Evan came over. He produced a laptop from under his bed, deliberately ignoring the plate of half-eaten stale toast that obtruded his path as he reached for it, and told Evan to look up the park.

Connor glanced around his room and felt a wave of insecurity. He'd never been one to care about the state of his room but he suddenly felt shame at the clothes strewn across the floor and the old plates and bowls and pieces of miscellaneous litter. He pulled himself up from the floor and began to hastily pick up the clutter on his floor, dirty clothes, food, rubbish that he couldn't be bothered to walk to the bin not on the other side of the room to throw away, all thrown somewhat neatly in their rightful place. Though, Connor did keep his chair full of clean clothes, giving himself the same empty promise that he'll "put them away later".

Unsatisfied, but unable to find the effort to take it further, Connor sat cross-legged on the bed next to Evan who began to read the 'about' page of the website out loud, skipping the long drawn out sentences and summing up the facts in verbal bullet points. They opened up a fresh new power-point, wrote the title, argued over the font, and spent thirty minutes choosing the layout and pretending to work.

When Cynthia asked if Evan wanted to stay for dinner, as she always did, he followed the conventional rules of politely declining then accepting when Connor's mother further insisted, offering a half-hearted "yay" at her declaration of gluten free pasta. Connor gave Evan a mocking smile when she left again.

"You should have waited before you said yes, now you've landed yourself with soggy cardboard for a meal," Connor deadpanned.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Evan said, though he didn't sound like he meant it and he looked like he was trying to swallow regret. "It's nice that she goes to so much effort."

Connor snorted. "Only because she heard it "helps with mental health"," he said, raising his voice to a high, wavy tone and waving his hands in the air. He dropped them back to his side's and frowned at Evan. "Which is bullshit. And I miss bread."

"You have gluten free bread."

Connor didn't even justify Evan's comment with a response, raising his eyebrows at him as if to ask if Evan really believed what he saying himself. Evan gave him a defeated smile. "I'll bring you bread," he said.

"You can be my bread dealer, Evan. I'm addicted to gluten."

Evan laughed, which made Connor smile. "They'll find your stash of bread hidden in your sock drawer," Evan joked.

"In a little baggie," Connor continued, "should I smoke it or snort it?"

"Snort- snort it? It's bread, Connor!"

Dinner was uncomfortable. Evan had only stayed for dinner a few times but Connor's parents had officially exhausted all of their intrusive questions. Cynthia would occasionally try to force a conversation, only for Connor and Zoe to mumble a short answer, Evan be too anxious to contribute anything unless he was directly addressed, and Larry to attempt to join in only for it to die in seconds.

"So what homework are you boys doing?" Cynthia asked. Evan looked panicked at Connor, who had conveniently just shoved a forkful of gluten free pasta into his mouth, cheeks puffing out comically. When she received no response, Cynthia pressed, "is it history again?"

Connor forced himself to swallow, "yes."

"What is it?" She asked.

Desperate to break the tension, Evan spoke up. "We're, um, we're meant to make a presentation on the history of a local place," he said. "I think most people are just doing that library or something."

"Oh that sounds lovely," Cynthia beamed. "What are you doing it on?" She looked hopefully at Connor, who gripped his fork a little tighter and said "park" monotonously.

_I don't want to talk just leave me alone_

Cynthia looked ready to drop the conversation but Larry butted in. "Give her more than that Connor," he instructed.

Evan could see his jaw tighten. "It's just a park," he spat. "Stop asking."

"Connor-" Larry warned, raising his voice.

"You don't need to keep pressing," Connor said, straightening his back and balling both hands into fists. "It doesn't even matter."

"Your mother was asking you about school, don't you dare be so disrespectful!

Cynthia placed a hand on her husband's arm and spoke so quietly she may as well have said nothing. "Let it go, honey, this isn't something to start a fight about."

"He needs to learn to respect his parents!" Larry argued. "Connor-"

Connor abruptly rose from the table, cutlery clattering against the surface as he dropped it from his palms. He managed to spit out a quick "I'm not hungry" and marched out of the room. Larry looked as though he was going to shout again, twisted in his chair so that he was facing the door furiously while his hands were still planted firmly on the table, but was stopped by Cynthia placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and turning him back around, muttering something to him quietly. The table was thick with tension. Zoe looked like she wanted to make a comment. Evan stood up from his seat.

"The, er, it was really nice, Mrs Murphy," he said, half his plate still half full.

"You can sit and finish it, dear," she said.

"I'm really full," he insisted. "It was good, thank you." He walked as fast as possible out of the room, creeping up to Connor's door and peering inside.

"You can come in," Connor said after a moment of silence between them. "It was stupid, I overreacted."

Evan hovered awkwardly in the middle of Connor's doorway, mind racing to find something to say. "At least you left instead of starting a fight," Evan offered in a weak firm of comfort, not able to disagree with Connor's thought. He took one step into Connor's room as though Connor was physically repelling him, he looked uncertain and his reluctance to remain in the situation was written across his face. His fingers were tangled tightly in the hem of his shirt, beginning to turn red.

Connor was overwhelmed with the desire the be left alone. "Do you want to go home?" he asked bitterly, not even looking at him. "Zoe will drive you, she's supposed to."

He didn't watch as Evan crept out of the doorway, nor did he return his "see you" or force a smile as he left. He listened as the front door open and shut and the car pulled out of the drive. He listened until it came back again and the front door slammed shut. He cocooned himself in his duvet and listened to Zoe stomp up to the room next door and pull her door shut with a bang. He cursed.

_You overreacted. You got mad over nothing._

He knows. It's not like he doesn't know.

So much is happening.

\----

Daniel stopped him in the hallway when he was making his way to his locker. "Connor we have to talk," he begged.

Connor avoided his gaze and pressed his lips together in a tight lind, looking pointedly over Daniel's shoulder and attempting to maneuver around him with quick, wide steps as if he hadn't even seen him. He was trying to convince his mind that were true.

"Connor," Daniel called, grabbing him by the forearm, "why won't you just talk to me?"

_Because I can't look at you without thinking about what we did. Because it's my fault and I know you'll blame yourself if you knew. _

Connor's heart was racing, his mind screamed at him to escape. His eyes met Daniel's and he felt an ugly twist of guilt at the hurt and confusion he found. He snatched his arm away. "I have to go to class."

_Because I'm tainted and my body is so vile I want to die a thousand times over and kill myself again and again until it is bleached from me._

Connor flung himself into the first empty bathroom, stumbling into the stall, shoulders quaking, and threw himself over the lid of the toilet seat. He gagged and retched with no success, resorting to sliding two long, bony fingers into his mouth to scrape the back of his throat. He slid onto the floor in the corner of the stall, cramming himself in as far as he could go until the tremors stopped and he could breathe again. It was like he could feel it all again. His hands on him. His lips. Disgusting. Vile. Dirty.

He wasn't sure how much time he spent hunched over in the back of the stall, hands covering his face and trying in vain not to cry. Though when he emerged his face was dry and less puffy (and people would just assume he was on drugs anyway, which was really the more desirable option) and the lunch bell had rung. Connor's legs took him automatically through the halls, heading for the front entrance, ready to just take the long walk back home as he often did. He caught the sound of someone behind him calling his name and the fear that it was Daniel again flooded through him, planting him to the ground. But the face that met him wasn't full of hurt that made Connor feel like his own guilt was suffocating him. It was Evan's. He was talking.

"I know I came over on Monday but we didn't really get much work done and I don't have to stay and eat this time but I do want to get this project done just so we don't have to worry about it last minute because it's already Wednesday-"

Well, rambling.

Connor sighed. "Yeah, you can come," he agreed, dreading the next few hours he'd have to stay at school. He didn't want to talk to anyone anymore, and he was an asshole, but dumping all of their project work on Evan was too much of a dick move, even for Connor.

Maybe with Evan to talk to Connor would be able to forget the feeling of Daniel's hands on his body, and the disgust of what Connor had done crawling around inside of him.

Kleinman was waiting for Evan a few paces away, looking annoyed. He was tapping his foot in a cartoonistic manner with his arms crossed and an impatient look planted on his face. He purposefully raised his voice as they walked away, taunting Connor. _"You should be careful, Evan. I heard he sucks dick for weed."_

It bothered Connor all day, repeating in the back of his mind, ever present. When he met Evan again he fretted over what he was thinking, analysing his face and body language as if this paranoid obsession would tell Connor what he was thinking. No luck.

"You know that thing Kleinman said earlier?" Connor asked, gazing up at his ceiling. He was laying on his back, legs stretched out and arms crossed behind his head. He had adjusted himself since falling on the mattress face first and groaning about the walk Evan made them go on so they could take pictures of the damned park for their presentation. When he didn't receive a response, Connor called out, "Evan?"

Evan answered with a short "hm", indicating that he wasn't quite listening, engrossed in his homework.

"He said that I give blowjobs for weed," Connor reminded him. "It's not true." Connor was desperate for Evan to believe him. That Evan might think he did that at all made his stomach twist. But his voice sounded unnatural and too quick and forced so that Connor was certain he was only digging himself into a deeper hole.

"Oh, no, I know," Evan reassured. "Jared says stuff like that all the time. I just ignore him."

A little voice told Connor Evan was only saying it to be polite.

"I don't do it," Connor repeated.

"I know," Evan said, turning from the desk and giving Connor his full attention. "I know I believe you."

_No you don't._

"I'm actually asexual," Connor said, too quick for him to register he was even saying it. He'd known before, of course, but the word felt alien on his tongue. Connor had never actually told anyone. Miguel knew but Connor had texted it to him, afraid to say the word out loud. Connor wanted to say it again, just for himself.

Evan paused for a beat. "Oh, okay," he smiled. "That's okay, thanks for telling me."

He flowed easily on to another topic, almost convincing Connor the whole conversation had been some abnormal hallucination. Connor forgot, then, that there was anything wrong with him because Evan found it so easy and okay, Connor felt himself relax in a way he hadn't for a while. Connor came along as Zoe dropped Evan off back home, chatting with him in the backseat of the car. He walked him to his door, keeping a conversation that didn't seem to have an end.

When Evan left, the darkness, as though it had been stalking in the shadows waiting for its prey to be abandoned, pounced, and engulfed Connor's mind with its melancholy. He slid into the car and pulled his knees up to his chest, aware of his shoes on the seat, a rule his parents had drilled into him and Zoe since childhood. When they got home he dragged himself into his room. Connor tried to do his homework only for his mind to go blank the second his pen hit the paper, eyes refusing to read and brain refusing to focus on the words.

_You're always going to be like this. What's the point?_

Connor felt sick again despite not having eaten. His knees shook as he stumbled into the bathroom, retching over the toilet only to come up empty. He could feel it in his stomach, crawling around, heavy.

_You'll never get rid of it. You're stuck like this._

He rifled through the medicine cabinet tucked neatly away in the bathroom. He grabbed what he could find and was on the verge of running by the time he had gotten to the door.

\-----

Connor was sitting on a swing in a park a walk away from his house, only vaguely aware of how he got there. As he walked (stumbled? Jogged? Ran?) his thoughts attacked his mind all at once, overlapping and interrupting, but Connor understood them all. A part of him wanted to text Miguel but when he clicked on his contact and his thumb hovered over the keyboard he didn't know what to say. They hadn't talked properly for a while. Miguel used to be the one he could tell everything and Connor wondered when that had changed. Then the thought of telling him this had Connor swallowing down the urge to vomit again. Texting wasn't exactly saying it 'out loud' but it would still make it real. It would put it out into the world. Another person would know. His free hand rested in his pocket and his pills rattled in their bottles. A morbidly satisfying sound.

His thumb moved quickly before he could back out. He called Miguel instead.

The phone rang only twice before the call hung up.

Can't talk, he's supposed to be asleep and his mom will yell at him if he keeps her awake. What's up?

Connor lost his nerve. Nothing.

Is he okay?

He's fine.

Does he need Miguel to call him?

Why isn't he answering?

"Connor please pick up the phone."

\----

Connor texted Miguel when he got home (after pouring a handful of pills into his palm and chickening out of swallowing them and then walking home and crawling under the covers) that he was okay. That was about all he could manage before he returned to his isolated sanctuary.

Connor had another panic attack. It slapped him like a brick. Coming out of, at first glance, nowhere. His hand gripped his phone painfully tight as he began to shake, soon dropping it entirely in favour of running his hands through his hair and grabbing fistfuls as he sank further under the covers. He tugged his hair, sending sharp stinging pain into his scalp. Connor used his arms to cover his face, curling his knees to his chest and gasping for air.

His thoughts flew at him in jumbled messes but one stuck out louder and more prominent than the rest:

_I'm going to die._

A rather ironic thing to be scared of. Connor fought for breath and gasped and seeped and shook for a good half an hour, making weak, barely audible cries for help with no response. It stopped almost as quick as it had started and Connor lay on the floor, remaining tucked in a fetal position, too exhausted to move or think.

_Pathetic._

_No one cares about you. No one came._

_If you hadn't put those pills back like a coward, you wouldn't be here_

He still had to go to school the next day, even though he was drained and groggy and could barely function, Larry didn't see it. Connor didn't bother trying. He kept the pills in his room just in case.

He forced himself to eat some breakfast which eased his gnawing stomach and lightened his pounding headache to more of a consistent dull drilling.

Connor's body moved for him, his mind elsewhere. His family talked at him and he could barely respond. The day was just happening, as though Connor hadn't just almost killed himself. As though it was okay. It felt wrong.

He went through the motions of the day without even opening his mouth, hardly aware of the world around him. Connor deliberately avoided any contact, convinced the next person to talk to him would make him snap. Each sound irritated him, background noise sounding like nails on a chalkboard in his ear. Just the simple rythm of someone drumming their nails on their desk causing Connor to boil with anger. Too much was happening.

Evan texted Connor that evening and Connor knew that whatever it was Evan had probably written an essay in his head criticising each word until he had come up with the final message.

"Do you want to come over to my house Saturday night? My mom will be out all of Saturday and she's only coming back late Sunday because she took up loads of shifts at work. I know we won't have the homework anymore but just for fun?"

Connor was still reading it when Evan texted again.

"Only if you want to it's okay if you say no."

Connor really wanted to say no.

"Okay, what time do you want me to come?"

Knowing Evan, Connor thought he would probably think Connor hated him should he refuse.

Cynthia was far too excited that Connor was going to Evan's house. She agreed to give him a lift there, already planning on stopping to buy snacks on the way. She was trying to hide it, but Connor could see her glee shining through the cracks.

"I've been to Evan's before," he stated.

"But you've never had a sleepover!" she exclaimed. Connor felt his face flush.

Connor arrived at Evan's house armed with a grocery bag of crisps and sweets Cynthia had insisted on buying, along with a dusty sleeping bag from when he had gone camping years ago with his family, discovered in the back of the garage.

"Do you have pyjamas?" was the first thing Evan asked, looking curiously at Connor's light packing.

Connor raised the rolled up sleeping bag by it's string. "Yup, in here. I'm just wearing these clothes tomorrow though."

Evan seemed satisfied and brought Connor into his living room. He could tell by the way Evan's eyes darted around the room that he was nervous. He was like this the first time Connor had come over, though they had spent most of the time in Evan's bedroom instead with Connor commenting on his decor and nosily poking around his belongings, Evan informed Connor they'd sleep downstairs so they could use the TV.

They argued light heartedly about who would sleep on the floor, each, of course, volunteering themselves, and none getting truly frustrated at the matter. Eventually Connor simply dropped his sleeping bag on the carpet, insisting that since it was his, he would be sleeping in it. Having no argument, Evan sighed, defeated, and invited Connor to at the very least sit with him on the couch while they weren't sleeping.

"No, I'm staying here," Connor effectively dropped himself on to the floor and crossed his legs, folding his arms in mock stubbornness. Evan laughed and mercilessly left Connor to his fate: upright on a relatively hard floor with his limbs folded uncomfortably.

"While you're down there," he said, "you can pick a movie. Or we can go out and do something. I don't know, there's a down the street but not much else. And that's for kids, anyway."

Connor grunted and pulled himself up from his spot, using his hands to push himself up as though he were an old man and groaning in exaggeration. He walked over to the shelves in the corner of the room, scanning Evan and his mother's DVD collection. They even had video tapes and, to Connor's surprise, an old video player set up to the TV.

"It still works so we just never got rid of it," Evan answered when Connor inquired. "Though it gets stuck sometimes and messes up a lot. It's mostly just old Disney movies that we have on video."

"You have all the Lion Kings," Connor muttered mostly to himself.

Evan was right when saying the video player didn't work very well. Occasionally the video would get stuck and the player would make some distressed noise until the boys took out the tape and put it back in again, forward winding through it to reach their place. Each time Connor would give the machine an affectionate pat, which would make Evan laugh.

Evan had to use an old remote to control it. It was large and ugly and so well used that the colour was fading and the buttons no longer had labels (though Evan seemed to know it well enough to press without even looking). After the film froze for a fifth time both boys agreed they should probably stick to discs, and Evan and Heidi should probably give up on their video player.

The movies acted more as an excuse for the boys to sit and talk with some background noise. Every so often when a conversation died out, both would turn their heads to the screen and watch what neither of them quite remembered putting on, before something would happen which would spark another discussion between them. The sun had long since set, though they had no light but a small lamp in the corner of the room giving the area a warm glow that made Connor's eyes tired. Snacks had been eaten or discarded and Connor and Evan were both laughing, the latter clutching his stomach in that welcomed pain one can get from laughing too hard.

It seemed to come out of nowhere. Perhaps having a good time reminded him that he shouldn't, or maybe his brain had exhausted its supply serotonin for the week. Connor cut through their good mood like a knife.

"You know Daniel - I used to go out with him - Daniel Greene?"

"Uh, yeah I think so," Evan replied, Connor could tell he was confused by the tone of his voice, the song of their shared laughter gone. As though the universe were mocking him, Connor heard a chime of laughter from the TV, off putting and out of place. He reached blindly for the remote, fumbling around the gap between them on the couch and pressing mute. Connor had to take a moment to process after cutting the sound off so abruptly.

"We had sex," Connor said, throat thick.

A pause. "Okay?"

"But I didn't want to."

"Oh." Silence. Connor's words hung in the air uncomfortably, unanswered. He cursed the darkness, wishing it away only if so he could see what was happening on Evan's face, what he was thinking, what he thought of him. The silence deafened Connor, crashing around in his head like walls blasted to rubble by bombs. He wasn't sure if it went on for a minute or ten, it felt like an eternity.

When he spoke to Connor again Evan's voice was soft and cautious and shocked. "Oh _Connor._"

"It's not like- he didn't r-" he cringed at the word on his tongue. "I said yes I did say yes I just," Connor's voice cracked, he felt the familiar ache of tears ready to spill from his eyes, "I didn't actually want to." His hands were shaking, Connor didn't realize he was gripping his hair again until Evan reached over and pried his fingers apart, holding his hand and massaging circles into his palm. When had he moved across the couch?

"I thought," Connor continued, bottled up emotions spilling out of his mouth, overflowing down his tongue like a clumsy, uneven waterfall and, not used to such free expression, tumbled out like rocks. "I started it so- so I guess I felt like I _had_ to, I had to or else- I shouldn't have started kissing him or I was just leading him on-" He was crying now, tears spilled into his mouth, the taste of salt on his tongue.

"Connor slow down," Evan spoke lightly, surprising himself with how calm he was. "Breathe, okay? Like this." Evan counted for him, seven seconds in and seven seconds out. At first Connor struggled to keep up and his breathing quickened as he panicked to stay in time with Evan. "Take your time, Connor," he instructed. "You don't have to- There's no pressure, okay?"

"I just feel so wrong!" Connor gasped. "I feel disgusting and dirty and I can't make it go away!" His breathing was rattly and weak and wet from tears. Spurred from the rush of release, Connor continued, tripping over his words and stumbling each sentence. "No matter how hard I try to get rid of it it's like there's- there's something disgusting inside of me! It's my fault, I _knew_. I knew I was ace and I was just so scared that he'd reject me or hate me after I finally found something good and I ruined it anyway!"

"Connor it is not your fault," Evan said it with such certainty that it shook Connor. His shoulders stiffened and he looked at Evan defensively

"It's- I said yes it's not like it's Daniel's fault," Connor almost snapped.

"I'm not saying it is!" Evan said quickly, raising his hands in surrender, Connor wondered if he was only saying so to placate him. Evan lowered his arms back down to rest a hand on Connor's forearm, squeezing it reassuringly. "You can't blame yourself, though."

_But I said yes._ Connor felt like a broken record even in his own mind. He pressed his lips together, not wanting to turn their conversation to an endless circle, but unable to agree with Evan.

Evan seemed to sense this. "I know you don't believe me," he said, "and I don't know- I don't know what to say."

Connor shook his head. "It's okay," and then "thank you".

Evan engulfed Connor in a much needed hug. "I'm- I'm glad you told me," he said. "I want to help you, I don't know how."

_You can't help._ He couldn't say that. _Nothing can help._

Connor returned the hug silently.

Connor went back home early on Sunday and stayed in a bubble in his room throughout the next day, and the next, and the next one after that. An endless stream of thoughts flooding his brain. The boys had a semi-awkward breakfast. Evan trying to find some desperate topic of conversation and Connor going along with it only so he didn't have to think about what he'd said the previous night. They had, of course, discussed it for longer but Connor's memory was foggy and all he could focus on was the look that Evan kept giving him. Connor didn't eat, but nursed a glass of milk Evan had insisted he drink. Though Connor felt a little lighter, like he'd lifted a weight off his chest, he hated the thought that he'd given it to Evan to hold instead. That he'd burdened Evan now with this. That now Evan had to think about it the way Connor did. Maybe worse.

Evan texted Connor the Monday afternoon. It was only the one message, reading: "I understand why you're taking a day off school. Just know I'm here for you and I care about you and I want you to be safe."

Connor wondered fondly how long it had taken Evan to compose that message. Determined to ruin every moment he had, a foul thought pushed its way into his mind.

_He probably thinks you're going to kill yourself_

He wouldn't exactly be wrong to.

Having become a common occurrence, Connor lay awake at night in silence, unable to sleep. Well, it would have been silence, only his parents had left their door open a crack and Connor, curious and bored, walked down the hallway until the annoying, unintelligible murmurs became a clear, half whispered conversation about Connor that Connor wasn't supposed to be listening to.

_You can't blame yourself._

Nothing could convince Connor that were true.

Connor was ordered to go to school despite that he shouted and threw things and waved his fists around threateningly. But he gave up quickly. It was the look his mother gave him, he thought, or maybe the guilt slithering up his back as it did every time he lashed out. Maybe it was because he was too tired to fight. He finally dragged himself to school and held out until his lunch break so he could tuck himself next to Evan as he ate in the library.

"I heard mom talking to my dad," he complained. "She wants to put me in therapy again. Like it'll do anything."

Evan set down his lunch, watching his half-eaten sandwich intensely. "It might help," he suggested. "They're professionals, they know what they're doing." With a bit more pondering, he added: "and it's helped for me."

"It won't help me."

"Why not?"

"It just won't," if you could verbally put your foot down, Connor had. His tone was finalising.

Evan met Connor's eyes, determined. "Give it a chance," he said. "If you go in believing it won't work, then it won't. Give it a chance and you've got a chance to get better."

Connor stared back into Evan's eyes, unsure of what he was trying to portray. Evan's eyes pulled him in, asking for a promise.

_Give it a chance._

_You can't blame yourself._

"Okay. I'll try." Connor wasn't sure if it was an empty promise of not. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. Evan seemed satisfied and settled back down next to him contently. Connor pondered his options, the nagging thought in the back of his mind growing louder. Did he deserve to get better?

Cynthia told Connor he was going to therapy that Friday after Connor returned from school, stopping him in the hallway and waiting until Zoe had wandered upstairs to her room. He listened through the gap in the door when she talked to Larry about it afterwards. It came as a surprise to him that his father didn't try to resist. Though they spoke in hushed whispers, the words stuck out Connor like knives.

"This is the first time he didn't fight me on it, Larry. He just looked so, so," she struggled to find the right word, "defeated! Exhausted. I think he really needs this."

Though Connor didn't possess the ability to see through walls, he could almost see the cracks in his mother's tired face. A physical image of her desperate efforts to help fix him. Help him. Evan's words hummed in the back of his mind.

_Give it a chance_

It seemed like spark of warmth had caught in the centre of his chest, creating a little bit of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this and I realised I don't know how to finish it so I'm writing a longer second chapter

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be a short one-shot, I thought 1200 words at most?? It was only meant to be a venty piece I don't know what happened I had a completely different ending in mind but then I guess things changed. I had originally planned on Connor taking his own life at the end (hence a shorter fic) but then I didn't think it was enough and I decided I was going to include a lot more. Evan wasn't even originally in it.
> 
> I think I jumped way out of my own abilities here so forgive me if it's, like, insanely terrible. The pacing is weird but it's too long to make it longer so that it works so I don't know just take it.


End file.
